


Stranger Creatures

by ashrose98



Category: BLURRYFACE - Twenty One Pilots (Album), Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Angst, Blurryface is a hallucination but can physically harm Tyler, Fluff, Hallucinations, Imagery, Josh helps Tyler, Josh stuffs his face with marshmallows, M/M, Metaphors, Physical Abuse, References to songs, Verbal Abuse, attempted overdose on pills, poetic description, suicidal tyler
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-08-16 19:18:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8114323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashrose98/pseuds/ashrose98
Summary: "You- you're not real," I stutter, and grip tighter onto the ladder, looking down at the red-haired boy."Um," he pinches his left forearm, "pretty sure I am." He frowns and raises his dark eyebrows. "Now, can you please get down from there so we can talk?I shake my head, and crawl into the treehouse closing the trapdoor after me. There's the sound of a steadily approaching creaking noise and I hide in the corner shamefully, tucking my knees up to my chest.There's desperate knocking on the trapdoor.





	1. Desperate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies!! This is a fic I've been working on now for a while, but it began as a way for me to vent about my feelings and experiences, and to explore my own blurryface. Through writing this I've noticed how people influenced my characterization of Josh, and how they helped me became part of how Josh helps Tyler. 
> 
> Because this is me writing about my own blurryface, which is a combination of severe depression, anxiety, CPTSD, child abuse, trauma, suicidal thoughts and actions, self harm, dissociation, etc this work can be /triggering/
> 
> So please please take care of yourself, don't read this if you think you'll be triggered. And please don't read this to purposely trigger yourself (I have done this too much). Please take care of yourself, I love you so much. <3

Your skin like milk had made me jealous of your sleeves. You found me broken and you helped me sleep. - Whole Again by Front Porch Step

 

 

My fingers twitch at the intense pounding in my head. Left side. Always. Pulsating pain, like knocking from the inside. Desperate knocking. Like someone who knows they are locked inside of a burning house and smoke is crawling into their lungs.

I'm that desperate someone.

Squinting I drag my shaking hands along the floor. I don't need to see to know what is carved into the wood of the treehouse. DIE. Finding the pill bottle I unscrew the cap and pour the last two pills into my hand. Leaning back against the wall it creaks quietly, like a choked up sob, and I exhale heavily before taking a gulp of water and popping the pills in together.

Swallowing thickly I mumble something incoherent. My mind a forest on fire. I grab my pocket knife.

"You didn't think you had escaped, had you?" the shadowed figure in the darkest corner shakes its head. A slight condescending chuckle.

"Maybe"

"Such a pity, I thought you would learn quicker," there's a pause, a floorboard creaks, "fool."

I inhale quickly, and move back farther. I know what happens next. I am not a fool. There's a step, and then another. A sound like a snake, but less slippery, more solid.

The closed pocket knife in my hand trembles.

Then, there's a cracking sound and a burst of pain emits from my right shoulder. I wince sharply and bite my lip until I taste blood. Another whack from his belt, and I retreat into a fetal position.

_Desperate._

"Stop," I choke out past the sobs, "please."

"Don't tell me what to do, worthless boy," this time the belt stings my back. Another, and another and soon I lose count as I scream, biting into my fist.

Static burns the corners of my eyes until all I see are specs of blue bursting color. Then, nothing.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

My back is stiff and sticky by the time I wake up. I blink quickly and then groan at the dull pain in my forehead.

I curse underneath my breath and lay on the floor of the treehouse, breathing slow and shallow. There is a warm trickle coming from my forehead and mouth, and I know that he has claimed me as his again. Red drips from my chin in a steady stream. I squeeze my left eye closed as blood runs down from the gash in my forehead.

Fighting through the pain that radiates from my back I push up using my forearms, then my hands until I'm crouching. Petrified I scan the corners for a shadowed figure, and seeing none I breathe a sigh of relief. The tension in my shoulders releases. I become painfully aware of the welts on my back, but I clench my jaw through the pain.

"I've made it this far," I mumble, and push myself off of the floor until I'm standing. I wipe my brow and I don't bother to look at the rust-coloured blood.

 _Ice._ I need ice.

Eyeing the trapdoor I stumble to it and pull up the hatch. There's a sharp drop to the forest floor, but the ladder is still stable enough to use. Carefully placing my feet, I pause, listening for a creaking sound. There's none. Only silence, not even the melancholy chirps of birds.

I relax and begin my descent, pausing, listening, crying. Counting the steps til I touch the ground.

Something soft brushes up against my leg and I startle, nearly losing my footing.

"Please, don't hurt me, please, _please_ ," I whimper and grip tightly onto the ladder.

"Tyler," there's a voice below me. I close my eyes tightly.

"Please, please, don't," I plead quickly, biting the inside of my cheek. Fool. Worthless fool. I swallow heavily and kick out my leg breaking free of the hand grasping my ankle and climb up the steps until I'm at the top. Panting, I look down at the hooded figure standing at the bottom of the stairs.

"Tyler," the figures hands pull back the hood, I blink quickly. It's a trick, a trick, a trick. Don't fall for it again. "What the hell happened to your face?”

"You- you're not _real_ ," I stutter. Gripping tighter onto the ladder I look down at the red-haired boy.

"Um," he pinches his left forearm, "pretty sure I am." He frowns, raising his dark eyebrows. "Now, can you please get down so we can talk and clean up your cuts?"

I shake my head, and crawl into the treehouse closing the trapdoor after me. There's the sound of a steadily approaching creaking noise and I hide in the corner shamefully, tucking my knees up to my chest.

There's desperate knocking on the trapdoor.

"Let me in, I swear I'm real, I'm not going to hurt you. I'd just like to talk, a-and stop the bleeding." I can hear his muffled voice. My heartbeat is pulsating through my fingertips.

"No, please," I reply petrified, and watch with wide eyes as there is a loud thump and the trapdoor opens slowly to reveal the red-haired boy. He coughs at the strong stench of blood and creeps onto the floor and sits down. Thumbing over his lip ring he watches me carefully.

"It's me, Josh. You remember me, yea?" he asks earnestly, his gaze as heavy as hands. I shift uncomfortably. There's a vivid memory of red dye in the kitchen sink, laughter thick in the summer heat.

I nod.

"Would you like to explain what happened?" the question is piercing, and I'm not quite sure how to answer. Afterall, how does one explain that their hallucination is a violent monster that likes the metallic taste of blood too much? He also likes watching me trembling and wringing underneath his strong grasp.

I shake my head.

"Ok," he nods understandingly, "shall we go wash off all that blood?" There's a slight grimace as he says blood, and he scoots closer to me.

Profound silence fills the treehouse as I acknowledge how horrifying of a sight this must be to Josh. There's no reflective surfaces but I can only imagine the hideous figure that I am. Blood drips from my forehead and chin, numerous gashes along my wrists and ankles, large cuts down my spine. And most likely a slew of bruises scattered about on my face and the rest of my body.

"Please, take my hand," he outstretches a trembling hand towards me and I stare at Josh like he is a foreign object. I'm half terrified that the moment I touch him he'll dissolve into sand. _It wouldn't be the first time._

Time suspends itself, my faith as thin as a red thread as I reach out my hand to grasp Josh's. There's a warm sensation as our hands touch. He firmly grips my hand as he stands up, and tugs me until I'm standing. We stare at each other. No words. Our eyes hold enough.

"Come on, you're all I've got," he smiles weakly at me, then he opens the trapdoor and begins to climb down. I follow him willingly.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Four lightbulbs illuminate the immaculate bathroom. I stare into the mirror and watch the corners of the room over my shoulder for any glowing eyes. Droplets of water fall from my damp hair. Grasping the sink tight I allow a few tears to blur my vision, until finally, I let go of my emotions.

I don't know how long I stand there crying. Contemplating. There's a short knock, and then the door creaks open. I'm suddenly quite grateful for the towel hugging my hips. He peers at me silently before opening the door completely, wrapping me tightly in his warm embrace. He stands there, holding me, until the sound of sobs no longer echo in the small bathroom.

Holding me at arm's length with his hands resting lightly on my shoulders he smiles. His eyes are a warm cinnamon colour, and I feel safe. _Safe._ I've only felt this safe once before.

I shouldn't feel safe. I should feel exposed. I should feel painfully raw. But all I feel is warmth, safety. The comforting effect of being wrapped up in a blanket stitched together with love and patience.

I'm safe even though he sees the cobwebs and flies, the glowing eyes. In our march to the sea he rescued me. My knees threaten to buckle and I cling onto him, afraid to let go. The flow of warm salty tears down my cheeks slows down, and I take in gulps of air hungrily.

"This isn't what you're supposed to see," I breathe into his neck, closing my eyes shut. "I'm sorry."

"Don't." He pulls away and shakes his head, his face solemn, "Don't apologize."

"But I am sorry, I didn't want you to see me like this.." I take a deep breath, "I'm always like this, Josh, always. I'm struggling and I'm drowning in my emotions on a daily basis."

"We all get pulled under the water sometimes, and that's why I'm here." The left corner of his lips lifts up in a half-smile, and I find myself smiling back at him.

"Sometimes.." I pause, the smile disappearing from my face, "ya know, it - it's hard to tell where the ocean stops and the sky begins."

His fingers grasp my shoulders, and it's reassuring. More reassuring than honey-coated words. Then he lets go, and his hands dip gracefully down to his waist. His eyes are a soft coffee brown. There's flecks of gold near his iris. I know there's symbolism in the fact that this red-haired boy with the coffee eyes has gold specks in his eyes. The only explanation I can think of is that he has a golden heart to match.

I don't think I could look into anyone else's eyes and feel such serenity. Eye contact makes me anxious, nervous. Waiting constantly to see the ember of anger spark in their eyes as I make careful glances upwards at the figure in front of me. Most days I avoid eye contact, shoulders slumped, hands buried into the grave of my pockets.

Today isn't one of those days.

I count the gold specks in his eyes, the freckles framing his eyelids, the black eyelashes curling upwards. The lonely eyelash kissing his left cheek.

I freeze momentarily before reaching forward, brushing the eyelash away with my thumb. He closes his eyelids, and I think I see a vision of my future. I blink and it's gone. The eyelash rests on the pad of my thumb. I make a wish before blowing it away, and it floats away like a dream when you first awake.

I wished for happiness.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The couch creaks as Josh sits down beside me. His large hand slips between the couch cushions. Fumbling around his hand finds the button and the legs of the recliner pop up, and he leans back. I watch silently as he blinks and his eyes flicker between the changing channels and the tv remote. He huffs out loudly. I copy his motions and search for the button between the cushions for my section of the couch to recline. Upon finding it the legs spring up swiftly. I squeak loudly in surprise.

He looks over at me with a puzzled expression, and begins chuckling at me. I'm sitting stiffly as my hands are frozen mid-motion. I pout at his laughter and then laugh with him as his couch seat leans back suddenly. I hunch forward as I laugh, tears leaking out of the corner of my eyes.

"Why did you squeak?"

"It scared me!"

"How did it scare you? It's a reclining couch!"

"Well, Josh," I look at him with a pointed look, "it suddenly sweeps my feet up 45 degrees. It's quite shocking."

He laughs loudly at my deadpanned words, and wipes his eyes quickly.

"You're funny."

"Thanks." I reply after a few seconds, a bit shocked that he described me as funny when suicidal and depressed were the only words I have used to describe myself. When I'm washing my hands in the bathroom, I stare at my reflection. My eyes seem less hollow, but my hope is still a deflated balloon in the middle of my rib cage. I force a smile, and whisper to my reflection, "You are funny."

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

It's strange being here. And by here I mean sitting on the living room floor of Josh's apartment. It's strange that the laughter I hear is coming from my own vocal cords. I didn't know I had a laugh that wasn't fake. He's stuffing marshmallows into his mouth and by now we've lost count as we laugh, tears rushing down our cheeks. There's dim sunlight streaming through the curtains. With tears in my eyes I can't see the fairy dust but I know it's there. Just like his wings. I imagine them satin soft between my fingers.

His lips can barely close around the marshmallows, regardless I chant 'another, another' until he laughs so hard that there are white bubbles forming on his lips. I should be disgusted, but instead I find it slightly endearing. Strange.

He snorts, and brings his hands up to his mouth, his eyes widening as he stares directly at me as a liquefied glob hangs from his lips. I lean forward, bending inward on myself in laughter. For once I am curling up not from fear, not from sadness, but rather from happiness. The change is inexplicable. Where there were only shades of blues and blackness before, now there is dandelion yellow blooming in the cavity of my chest.

"Josh," I speak softly, and he looks at me expectantly. He looks hilariously deformed with the marshmallows in his mouth as he tries to smile. "I have something to tell you."

His face changes, like a lightbulb switched off, and now carefree joyfulness is replaced by careful concern. He nods for me to continue speaking as he grabs a tissue and 'politely' spits out the marshmallows. He coughs loudly to clear his throat and stares at me thumbing over his lip ring anxiously.

"It- it's not a bad thing, you don't have to be scared." His shoulders lower in relief, he looks less rigid. "Um, so I'm realizing something.. Something important. Like, you know those moments when somebody is laughing or smiling and your chest just fills up and you think 'wow, I couldn't possibly be more happy or more in love than this very moment'? I just had one of these moments, and I love you, Josh, I really do. Watching you stuff your face with marshmallows and you’re risking gagging just to make me laugh proves to me just how... amazing you are. There's a better word for amazing though, I just can't think of it right now but um Josh, I really love you and -"

The words tumbling out of my mouth halt as suddenly Josh's lips brush against mine. His honey eyes search mine for consent and I nod, feeling the balloon within my chest suddenly fill with air. No, no not air. Hope. Happiness. Love.

Then, there's soft pressure and warmth as he slowly kisses my lips. We kiss languidly, I smile at the taste of sugar from his lips. His lip ring adds a little friction to the kiss as I kiss him gently to avoid causing pain. Locking our lips together, I feel lightheaded, dizzy. Happy. I slowly pull away, taking a few slow inhales to calm myself. His eyelids flicker open, the cinnamon of his eyes just a sliver around his expanded iris. The thought makes me a bit smitten.

"I love you too, Ty."


	2. La tristesse durera toujours pt l

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> La tristesse durera toujours  
> Meaning: This sadness will last forever

I splash cold water onto my face, effectively waking myself up. The nightmares still cling to me, like a helpless child to their parent. I pick up a washcloth and rub my face. Rubbing gently around my eyes. I notice the air becoming colder. _Icy._ The hairs along my neck and arms stand up. My breathing becomes unsteady.

"Oh my dear boy, you've been saying things you shouldn't have lately," I freeze. Air catches in the back of my throat as I slowly remove the washcloth from over my eyes.

"Nnno," I choke on my words. My eyes focus on his looming figure standing behind me. The mirror slowly ices over.

"Don't lie to me," he pauses, his eyes glow a dark red, "you know what happens to liars."

"I'm sorry, really. Please, please don't hurt me," I turn around slowly from watching his reflection in the mirror. Trembling I slowly get onto my knees, too terrified to look up at him towering above me.

"Aww, look at you! Begging for forgiveness," sweetness drips off his lips, but I know it's poisonous, "but, you must understand one thing. You brought this on yourself. You shouldn't have told him."

"I didn't mean to, I swear. I'm sorry,"

"Ah, see, now you're lying again. You _did_ mean to. The only reason you are sorry for doing it is because you know what happens when you're a bad boy." The floor creaks as he steps forward. I see a burst of red behind my eyelids when his hand finally collides with my head. It stings. "Get off the fucking ground."

I obey his command, knowing well what is about to come next.

Shoving his fingers inside of my warm wet mouth he pushes me back against the sink. I struggle. There's the strong taste of soap as he digs his nails into my tongue. I gag against my own will and with tear-filled eyes I watch him smirk. Blood drips from his crooked lips.

He shoves his fingers farther into my mouth, chuckling with dirty satisfaction as my throat contracts and retracts.

"Boys with dirty mouths get them washed out with soap," He sing-songs quietly into my ear, watching as I squirm beneath him.

Smiling he places a bar of soap into my mouth, forcefully clenching my jaws shut around it. My screams are effectively muffled by his large hands. The taste is so strong. Disgusting. I want to throw up. I can't.

He begins to count down from 60. _Slowly._ The lower the numbers get the more I lean back against the sink, succumbing to his firm grasp on my mouth. My eyes start to water as he nears 20.

**10.** My nose burns.

**5.** Saliva and soap mix inside of my disgusting mouth. I couldn't feel more dirty.

**0.** His hands release me and I spit out the bar of soap at his feet. He chuckles.

"Does somebody want to go for round two?" He bends over and picks up the soap. He slides it back and forth between his dark hands.

Shaking my head fiercely I turn around, beginning to spit into the bathroom sink. I gag at the overwhelming taste burning at the back of my throat.

"Here, let me help you," He murmurs into my ear, and reaches for my throat. His hands grasp tightly onto my neck and he squeezes. I feel a rush of coldness from the touch of his skin. Suddenly, I'm vomiting. I hunch forward and grasp onto the sink, shaking as my body rejects what it contains.

"Much better, yes?" I can hear the smirk in his voice as he lets go of my neck. I sputter and wipe my mouth with the backs of my hands over and over again. Hands trembling I turn around the face him.

"Yea," I smile bitterly, "now leave me alone."

"With pleasure," He replies, digging his sharp nails into my shoulder blades. I bite back a scream, and shrink backwards in a feeble attempt to escape his grasp. The moment a drop of blood hits the bathroom floor he disappears, and I sink down onto the floor crying.

The white tiles are slowly turning red.

Carding my fingers through my hair I force myself to cry quietly, knowing that Josh is still asleep down the hall. _This would not be a good sight. **At all.**_ Tugging hard at my hair I move so my knees are close to my chest. I scratch at my scalp. Digging. Clawing. Trying to take out my memories. Trying to destroy them. I always end up with empty hands. Blood underneath my fingernails. I flinch whenever I dig at a sensitive spot. Why can't I stop? Please, just make it stop.

"Please I don't want these memories, please. Just make it stop, I'm begging you, make it stop. I don't want to live like this anymore. This just ain't living. I just go through the same motions every day and it's wearing me thin. I can't. I can't, I'm so sorry. Please don't hurt me please please no please I'm sorry don't hurt me I'm so sorry please no. No. _No. No. **No**_ ," I mutter to myself, tears rushing down my cheeks. I claw harder at my head, desperate to get these memories out.


	3. La tristesse durera toujours pt ll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's 4, crack the door to the hallways in my dreams  
>  But it seems my hallway keeps closing in on me  
> Forcing me out, making me think about you and how you're gone  
>  I see 4:05 in teary eyes and then I write this song

I rub my face and look over to see 4:05 with blurry eyes. I shift around in my bed, and slowly reach my hand over to where Tyler is sleeping. Or should be. It's cold. Empty. He's not there.

"Tyler?" I sit up and pull the covers off the bed. I frantically look in each corner of the room, expecting to see a hunched over figure sitting there. A faint stream of light pours out from underneath the crack of the bathroom door in the hallway.

Placing my feet on the ground I solemnly get up and approach the door. Whispered words spill out from behind the closed door. 

“Please please no please don't hurt me I'm sorry please no I'm so sorry please. No. No. No.” 

My throat chokes up, I don't know what I'm going to find when I open the door. Who is Tyler talking to? I breathe in quickly, my heart beating faster as I quietly knock on the door. 

"No, no, please don't hurt me, I'm sorry I swear!" 

"Tyler, hey it's ok, it's just me, Josh." I open the door slowly, finding him hunched over on the floor crying uncontrollably. 

"Jj-Josh?"

"Yea, it's me. It's alright Ty, I'm not going to hurt you." I slip through the doorway and sit down across from him, our feet briefly touching before he pulls away. Grimacing I take account of his injuries - a bleeding right shoulder, bloody hands, and blood in his hair. I don't know what's happening, but I'm scared. I'm terrified. 

But so is he.

Refusing to look up at me he scratches at his arms, taking shaky little breaths.

"Hey, Ty? Tyler?" I murmured gently, he looks up for a brief second before looking down at his shaking hands.

"Ty," I pause, "do you want to talk about it?" My breathing is unsteady. What if I said the wrong thing, what if he pushes me away, what if he hurts himself more? 

"No," it's clear, and it's pronounced the way he says it. It stings. He digs his nails into his arm. 

"Please, look at me," I fold my lips together tightly. It takes him almost a minute before he looks up at me, tears running down his cheeks. "I love you Tyler." He smiles, but it's bitter, like he doesn't believe me. "I really love you, and I'm here for you if you want to talk about what happened. I'm not going to push you, ok? But we need to clean up your cuts, alright, and then we can cuddle yea? Sound like a plan?" I speak softly and slowly. It's terrifying. It's like I'm talking him down from the ledge and if I say or do the wrong thing he could jump and I'll... I'll lose him. I don't want to lose him. Ever. 

He looks at me with the eyes of a dog locked into a cage, and slowly nods. I refrain from sighing in relief, it's not over yet. I stand up, running the list of things I need to do in order for his wounds to heal through my brain. 

  1. **Tell him you love him.**



I wring my hands together and step closer to him, reaching out my hand. It's shaking. 

"I love you," I close my eyes as I say it, like it's painful to admit this confession at a moment like this. Sometimes it hurts to say I love you. It burns at the back of my throat. There are so many feelings tied to him. Memories, and thoughts.  _ Please don't cut me out.  _

I open my eyes when his hand touches mine. He grasps onto me and I pull him up. I count the times he flinches in pain.  _ Five. _

I brush my fingertips over his hands slowly, pressing gently into the spaces between his knuckles. I know too well what his knuckles look like bloody. 

"I'm sorry.." His smile falters, and he looks down at our hands laced together. 

"It's okay, it's going to be okay. You've overcome so much in order to reach this moment. I'm proud of you Tyler." I slowly untangle our hands, using the pad of my thumb to wipe his tears away. I'm afraid that his patient trembling eyes will unravel me. 

"I - I'm just being dramatic, I'm sorry," his voice quivers. Closing his eyes shut he opens his mouth again, "I'm really sorry, you should just ignore me." He clenches his fists at his side and salty tears kiss his cheeks once more.

  1. **Slow his tears.**



"I'm not letting go until we both see the light, ok? I'm not going to ignore you, I'm not going to leave you." I grasp his hands softly in mine and uncurl his fist, "There's a reason I can see through you, it is so I can see us through." I bring his hand up to my lips and gently kiss the back of his hand. 

  1. **Clean the cuts.**



"Alright love, let's clean you up, yea?" 

He trembles as he nods.

I grab a rag and soak it in cold water. I turn around and begin to gently blot the wound on his shoulder. As I clean the cuts I glance up at him to see him looking at the floor. He's ashamed.  _ How did he make these cuts? _ These aren't made with a razor, these are claw marks. I know he couldn't have done it with his nails, I regularly trim his nails after.... After I found him, blood underneath his fingernails, head bloody down the middle of his scalp. 

These are long, ragged nails cut into his skin. Like someone pinned him down. 

I toss the rag into the trash bin. Searching through the first aid kit for some antiseptic. I take a deep breath. 

"Tyler, who hurt you?" I find the antiseptic cream and a large bandaid, but I wait with the objects in my hand.

"You... You won't understand," he replies, his voice is broken up.

"You can tell me, Ty," I turn around, biting my lip as I gently rub the cream on the cuts. 

"Um, so, I must forewarn you of my disorder, or my condition, I guess. Um, so this is going to sound crazy," his breathing gets faster and I watch as his eyes flicker around the room nervously.

"It's ok, take your time," my stomach twists and ties itself in knots. I feel sick, physically sick from anxiety. I press on the bandaid and kiss the band-aid. His smile is strangled. 

"I'm twisted up inside my mind, I have this thing... He's so loud inside my head, and he just tells me these horrible things, and sometimes..." He cards through his hair, "sometimes he... manifests himself and he can physically hurt me... so when you found me in the treehouse he had just finished 'playing' with me." 

  1. **Hold him.**



"I'm so sorry, Ty," I wrap my arms around his waist. Resting my head gently on the uninjured shoulder I press my lips to his neck. Just a touch. Soft against his neck, breathing warm air onto his milky white skin. "I love you, so much. You're strong. No, you're resilient. You are so brave for telling me, thank you." 

Something cold drips onto my shoulder. He sniffles and his hands grasp tightly onto my grey shirt. 

_ This boy is everything that is desperate, and quiet, and brave.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last line "This boy is everything that is desperate, and quiet, and brave." is a line from a very very lovely poem written by softkaz on tumblr! <3
> 
> Here is the link to the full poem, please check it out, it's so beautiful.   
> http://softkaz.tumblr.com/post/151379898564/concept-living-means-loving-instead-of-being


	4. Gravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wanna fall inside your ghost  
> And fill up every hole inside my mind  
> And I want everyone to know  
> That I am half a soul divided.

             The sun is setting on the hilltops. Shadows settle into the corners of the living room like disgruntled children. We lay intertwined, like a lace doily on the dining table. Center-piece. Masterpiece. Mouth-piece. Lips locked lightly. Oxygen comes easy. 

Maybe these are moments that define us, shape us, make us. Shortening the gap between who we are; drawing us ever closer to the person we want to be. Tying the loose strings together. 

Dying sunlight streams through the curtains, light mosaic pieces on our bodies. His eyelids are closed as his head rests on my chest. With every inhale and exhale I watch as his head rises and falls. Seascape. But Tyler’s mind is a desert. 

The Misunderstood with The Understanding. 

All the nights when idle hands almost took his life are strung out like fairy lights. Delicately placed, like the freckles along his spine. I’m thankful he is here. Gently breathing. Still breathing. He deserves a trophy. I’ll polish it every day, place it on the mantle, and it will gleam with vibrance. I’ll point to it randomly throughout the day, and say, “See that? It means you’re still alive, it means you’re breathing, it means you have a 100% survival rate and I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

All I have to give him as a trophy is my simple touch. It isn’t so simple though. With every brush of my fingertips along his shoulders, down his arm, to the kiss planted on his elbow and on every healed knuckle - it is more than simple touches. It is hope, it is patience, it is kindness, it is love. It is every soft place in my soul inside of his calloused hands.   

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The street stretches out before us, and I cling to his pinkie with my own. Too afraid to touch more than this. But it’s enough. There’s butterflies in my stomach but for all I know they could be moths, drawn to the light that radiates off of Josh. I feel like a moth too, dust-wings, desperate for light. 

Streetlights and neon open signs gleam as the sun dips below the horizon line. I’m nervous and excited, but the feelings are too close, too similar, and they knit themselves into my bloodstream. 

He leads me down the road, and I willingly follow. The glowing lights hang over Lindey’s restaurant wooden doors. I pause. The evening bustle is coming alive, men in elegant suits, and women in dresses walk in and out of the doors. The cobblestones under my feet look better than I do. Disappointed in my own appearance as I sigh as I glance in at the shining windows. 

“Josh,” I bite my lip anxiously, “where are you taking me?”

He smiles up at the lights above the door. He holds my hand in his, rubbing his thumb in small circles. “Just wait, Ty, you’ll see.”

“I can’t go there,” I look through the windows at the couples sitting across from one another, between them is a fine white table-cloth, sophisticated foods and drinks. I’m severely inadequate. 

“What’s wrong?” The smile falls from his lips as he turns to look at me. 

“It’s..” playing with the hem of my white t-shirt, “it’s so fancy Josh, and I’m so under-dressed and awkward,” my voice cracks sharply, “and it’s so nice and fancy and sophisticated and I am none of those things.”

“Hey, it’s ok,” he reaches into the pocket of his black skinny jeans, “that’s why I brought these.” Resting in his large hand are matching black ties. Before I can open my mouth he is gently putting the tie around my neck and tying it together expertly. 

“J-Josh..” 

“It’s ok, Ty,” he grins, “or should I call you Tie?” He chuckles as he runs his thumb down my black tie, smoothing it out against my chest. Air catches in the back of my throat before I begin laughing. 

“Cheesy,” I shake my head. He pulls the door open and I’m met with strong fragrances, and ambient music playing in the background. There’s a kind of lightness in my chest, mixed with flutters in my stomach.  _ It’s so beautiful in here.  _

A receptionist greets us warmly, and Josh replies in a low voice. Their voices fade to static as I look around the room. Walls are a subtle marigold shade, mirrors are mounted onto the walls framed by borders. The mirrors reflect the laughing faces seated below. It’s as if I walked into a sunspot. Vases are filled with fresh daisy flowers, tables set with pearly white dishes, and silver spoons.  

The warmth of Josh’s hand squeezing my own makes me look at him. 

“Come on, love,” he leads me through the walkway.  

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

It’s been four months since the day I found Tyler in the treehouse, covered in cuts and bruises. Sometimes when I close my eyes I still see him trembling. I can still see the blood.

We sit down in our seats, the smile on his lips is sweet and gentle.  _ Sad. _

Snow covering green grass; I know happiness lies underneath the layers of sadness. I only need to thaw the cold, but I have frostbitten hands. 

“Tyler?” I momentarily pause, fingering at my lip ring, “I think we need to address,” I exhale heavily.  _ How am I supposed to word this? _ “why I keep finding you hurt.”

He breathes in quickly, his lips quivering. Leg bouncing underneath the table he opens his mouth to speak at last. 

“He-his name is Blurryface.” 

Suddenly, we are interrupted by a blonde waitress. Our waitress. I huff impatiently. I want nothing more than to wrap my arms around Tyler. She hands us each a black faux leather menu. Tyler shrinks back into his seat. Collapsing into himself. He gingerly grabs the menu and hides his face behind it. His fingers tremble. 

She discusses the special of the night, unaware of the tension between us. A taut string. She asks for our drink orders. He flinches and asks for water.  _ There is no room for anything but the sadness these days. _

“May I have Coke?”

“We don’t serve Coke, is Pepsi ok?” 

“Sure,” I dip my head slightly. My throat is dry with anxiety. It’s like the desert inside my mind is dripping down my throat, slowly suffocating me. 

She walks away, but looks over her shoulder at us before disappearing into the kitchen. 

“Blurryface?” I gently prompt Tyler to keep talking. He slowly lowers the menu, revealing bitten-sore lips, a stray tear clinging to his dark eyelashes.

“He.. He hurts me.” Blood forms ruby-red on his lips. “He is me, but he’s also not me. He’s- he is not me. He hurts me so bad, Josh, and I deserve it. I deserve every bit.” His shaking fingers tug at his hair. Tears escape his eyelids shut in pain. “I want him to leave me alone, I wanna be safe. I want to be happy. I want to be  _ me _ .” His voice cracks, all the sand in the hourglass slips through his fingertips. 

I open my mouth to speak, but there’s only the sound of a sharp exhale. I reach across the table, across the space between us  _ (the closest star isn’t that far away, it’s a asteroid, and he is gravity pulling me in) _ . Slipping my fingers around his delicate wrist I gently press on his vein. It is the same shade of blue that is dripping off of his chin in the form of a teardrop. Somedays the freckle near his vein looks like a semi-colon. Somedays it looks like bravery. 

There’s a strange sort of warm sadness taking over my body as I watch him silently cry. 

“I love you, Tyler.” There’s a wet spot forming on the white cloth now. “I know you are struggling right now, and it feels like your bones are held together by your nightmares and your frights. But guess what? You’re resilient, you’re strong. Your shaking fingers can move mountains.” 

His eyes search mine for hope. I feel like my fingers are lighthouses and I’m trying to show him the way home. 

_ Gravity draws us closer _ . 

He leans forward. The softness of his lips are all that I see. The warmth of his breath blows across my open lips as he exhales against mine. 

We kiss languidly. Gently. Delicately. Snow thawing on the rooftops. 

And I said, “Don’t be afraid.” 


End file.
